


A Night At the Pink Pussycat

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [2]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: A typical evening at the Pink Pussycat, a strip club.





	A Night At the Pink Pussycat

It seemed almost like you and Chris were psychically connected. Each time you set up to do your Captain America-meets-Winter Soldier striptease, Chris was there. Granted, you had four or five sets to choose from and that black and silver thong only came out once every couple of months. But, how did he always seem to know when to show up? 

“Girl, watcha thinkin’ about?”  
“Nothing, Sasha.”  
“You bored? Maybe you need a new routine?”  
“I think so.”  
“Well, Chris isn’t. He loves that routine.”  
“Are you being serious? Stop. He doesn’t care what routine any of us do.”  
“Anyways, you comin’ out with us tonight?”  
“No. You know I can’t.”  
“Don’t you ever take any days off from your other job?”  
“Yeah. You work too hard,” Lucy piped up.  
“Thanks Luce.”  
“Just come out and have some fun with us. You never hang out.”  
“I’m too busy tryinna make that paper.”

Chris stuck his head through the dressing room door. 

“Ladies ready?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You comin’ doppelganger?”  
“Nah. She said she’s got work.”  
“Who goes to work at 2 am?” 

His eyebrows quirked up.

“Nevermind about me. Y’all go and have fun. Text me when you get home.”  
“Or you could come out with us and you could see with your own two eyes that they get home safe,” he suggested.  
“I’m too busy.”

With that, you grabbed your bag and followed Sasha and Lucy out the door. You waited for him to leave the dressing room to lock it. He brushed past you and you smelled cardamom, mahogany and vetiver lingering in the air. At the front door of the Blue Hippo, you said goodbye to Lucy and Sasha. You dashed to the subway to get to your shift at the Pink Pussycat.

You mentally prepared yourself for the strip club during your 15-minute subway ride. On a good night, you could make $800 from lap dances and on a Monday night, you’d make $50. Working at the Pink Pussycat helped make ends meet, kept you in shape, but you were constantly under fire from guys who thought they could pay for sex. A few girls did that on the side and you were lumped in with them. Once a year a hot group of guys would come in and you’d seriously reconsider your moral standing. But they were never successful. After all, if they were such great guys, they wouldn’t be in a strip club in the first place, right? They’d know that they’d get it for free at a bar, right? 

You entered the dingy, dark Pink Pussycat which was lit up with a pink neon sign. The bouncer was kicking out a wasted customer. 

“Hey Jose.”  
“Hey.”  
“Busy night?”  
“Uh. Yeah. Three bachelor parties already.”

Sounded like music to your ears. Bachelor parties always meant a quick buck and you’d never see these guys again. They were there for a laugh. They were usually already drunk and you could get tips out of them quickly. 

“Any regulars tonight?”  
“Ilya and Jeff.”  
“Which one?”  
“Black Jeff.”

Black Jeff was a 250 pound black guy who claims that he used to play semi-professional for the NFL. I guess that’s like saying you used to dance semi-professional for Julliard before your accident. He was always getting a lap dance from you, telling you how he could keep you comfortable, take care of you, buy you anything you wanted. He clearly didn’t realize that you enjoyed taking care of yourself. You were looking to be independently wealthy. You didn’t want to sacrifice your independence unless you felt those butterflies in your stomach, that twist of nerves when the One walked into the room or the feeling of puzzle pieces clicking into place and the world coming together. You were unwilling to settle for anything less than an epic romance. Unfortunately, working at a burlesque club and a strip club prevented you from meeting anyone who would meet those criteria. Some girls had relationships with clients from the strip clubs, but the power dynamic in those relationships always seemed off. The guy always demanded that the girl quit stripping to do something that paid less and was more domestic. The girl either did it and got frustrated and bored with the lack of money or she said no and they broke up. It never ended well. Guys who went to strip clubs as a habit always viewed women as objects to be bought and sold. While women who worked there did it out of necessity. But you…you just wanted to dance. Clothes on or clothes off. You just wanted to dance and you didn’t care how. Truth be told, working at a strip club or a burlesque club wasn’t your dream.  
Growing up, you had wanted to be a prima ballerina for the New York City ballet. From the age of 3, you took ballet, tap and jazz. As you got older, you took lyrical, modern and hip hop. You always took ballet. At 16, you were on your way to audition at the Alvin Ailey School of Dance when a Mack truck slammed into your car head-on. Your parents had died on impact. You were rushed to the ER. You survived with a shattered patella. But, you jumps and your performances were never the same. The doctor said you would be stuck in a wheelchair or using a walker for the rest of your life. You poured yourself into physical therapy. Within a year, you were out of the wheelchair. Within two years, you were walking with a crutch. Within three years, you were walking independently. However, all of your dance dreams went down the drain. You sank into a year-long depression. It took Sasha coming over and giving you a metaphorical ass kicking that you rightly deserved.

“Listen, I signed you up to audition at the Blue Hippo.”  
“I don’t think so. What’s the Blue Hippo anyways?”  
“It’s a gay and lesbian bar during the week and on Friday and Saturday they put on burlesque shows.”  
“You know I can’t dance anymore.”  
“Why?”  
“Because my knee is fucked up!”  
“You’re a coward, you know that? The weakest person I ever met.”  
“Gee. Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at the Blue Hippo on Friday at 5.”

She whirled out the door before you could even respond. You texted her and she refused to respond. You could see her checking her WhatsApp. You knew that she had seen your texts, but she wouldn’t respond. Friday rolled around and you sucked it up. You threw together a 5-minute routine and scrambled to find a matching outfit in your hot mess of an apartment. The manager took a chance on you. You were hired. You had also on a whim called the Pink Pussycat to set up an audition at 6 pm the same day. Since you were going to be out and auditioning anyways, why not do 2? You were hired there too. You started at both places the following week and slowly started paying off your debts.

You hustled into the club to the back dressing room. A few girls were there in various stages of undress and changing into different thongs and pasties. You quickly changed into your outfit and thong. You locked away your bag just as the DJ announced you. You slithered onto the stage and wrapped around the pole. You did a few tricks and crawled around the stage making sure to flash your backside to the men. You grabbed up the bills being held out to you and gracefully exited the stage. The DJ announced your name again and advertised to the men how much lap dances were. You counted the money you had grabbed, shoved it in your locker and worked your way to the floor. After black Jeff and a few more lap dances, you had about $400 in cash. You were starting to feel good about tonight. You had turned down a number of requests for hand jobs. Although you gave mind-blowing hand jobs, you weren’t up for sale. At least one guy had propositioned you for sex. You said no without preamble or excuses. He got the point. He moved onto another girl. 

You felt tonight was an easy and good night. Predictable. Which is what you liked. You were going to go home, wash off the stink, and sleep well into the day. Then, in walked, Sasha, Lucy, Chris and his friends. Those dirty traitors.


End file.
